To My Mother: on her Recovery from a Dangerous Illness

In a half-darkened room I stood
One autumn afternoon ;
The dying day in desolate mood
Wept on with weary moan.
I looked toward a shadowed bed
Where thou in fevered sleep
Didst labouring breathe : a nameless dread
Made me in silence weep.
I saw the cheerless day's decline
And then I looked on thee :
Thy life, the very source of mine,
Seemed ebbing slow from me !
Ah ! childhood's pure and happy hours !
The tales you used to tell
r the deep pine-wood, my hand in yours ;
And hers who died as well :
The kneeling at your knee to pray.
The playing in your smile ;
Sweet guidance of a later day ;
It seems a little while
Ago we three, close linked in love,
From all the world withdrawn, r the cottage near a chestnut grove
Watched Alpine eve and morn.
O memories, I cannot bear
Your wistful faces, go !
Baffled my flagging wings of prayer
In such a storm of woe.
Yet Love took pity : slowly sank
The mantling tide of death
From thy dear lips : His love I thank
Which ever broadeneth
Before mine eyes, though they be dim !
Thy gentle life from now
Filled slow once more toward the brim
To bless where'er its flow —
Now this thine own sweet natal day
Once more in peace we spend :
Be calm as this their long array ;
With birth to Heaven the end !